On the Bright Side
by rhymeswithmonth
Summary: Kurt's dæmon settled too early. Blaine's dæmon is trying to find a form that will make everyone happy. It complicates things. A 'His Dark Materials' AU


Title from the Never Shout Never song of the same name. It's part of my Klaine soundtrack.

Would have had this finished sooner, but Cory :(

I kept trying to write and then it would hit me again. It's so shitty and whenever I remember that he's gone I sort of have to sit there and collect myself. I'm lucky enough that I got to go downtown the other day and visit the memorial outside the Fairmont. Poor Lea. Poor everyone. :(

* * *

"Look at him though, all feather, no brain."

Kurt carefully places Pavoratti's cage down on the area of the dresser that he'd cleared, pulling the curtain aside so that the sunlight streams through the gold bars. "Oh hush Phe." He says, checking that there's still seed in the bowl and water in the tube. "Or you'll come off as jealous."

Orpheus scoffs and hops down from the ceiling fan where he's been watching Kurt struggle into the room with the heavy load. "Don't be ludicrous. Jealous of that over-done puff ball? Pah!" He lights down on top of the cage, head tilting to peer at the canary inside. "Besides, you just like him because_ Blaine_ gave him to you."

"Shut up." Kurt flushes, flicking his scarf at the little brown bird, making him trill in irritation. He flits over to the bed and hunkers down in the middle of the pillow, and starts to run his break through his tertiary feathers. Kurt scowls at him, but flops backward on her beside his dæmon. "It's an honor." He grumbles, voice muffled. "Esteemed tradition and such."

"Well don't sound so thrilled about it." Orpheus hums, switching from his own wing to tug gently on a tuft of Kurt's hair. "It's what you signed up for. The pomp and ceremony and horrid sense of fashion."

"Isn't it just awful!" Kurt groans, "The jacket is such an awkward length! And those pants will reduce anyone's ass to a shapeless lump."

"Except _Blaine's_." Orpheus chirps in his ear. "He somehow manages to fill out even that monstrosity."

Kurt tucks his knees up to his chest, feeling the fabric of his skinny jeans pull across his thighs in protest of the motion. He closes his eyes and lets Orpheus' rhythmic grooming lull him. "You're such a prev." He says fondly.

"Like you weren't watching him through that whole number this morning. I was worried that your eyes were going to fall out of your head when he got up on that table."

"He looks so happy when he's performing." Kurt says softly, ignoring the bird's gibe. "Like he's shaken off a weight."

They lie silently for a while, Orpheus a warm heartbeat in the curve of Kurt's neck. In his cage, Pavarotti sings quietly. Orpheus eventually breaks the peace, peeping meekly "Everything is going to be okay now, right Kurt?"

"Yeah Phe." Kurt says. "We're going to be okay."

Wes walks into the commons, and Looba shifts smoothly into a cat, muzzle shrinking, spine bowing, eyes rounding out and turning brilliant green.

"Warbler Blaine." Wes greets with a nod, pacing the mahogany floor to fold into the chair on the other side of the low table. Idris jumps nimbly up onto the winged arm, tucking her tale neatly around her dainty paws and blinking her amber eyes at Looba in acknowledgement.

"Warbler Wes." Blaine returns, not able to keep the grin from splitting his face. He carefully marks the page of his magazine and puts it aside.

"So how's our newest recruit faring?" Wes asks, sliding one styrofoam cup of cafeteria coffee across the table. Blaine generally prefers off campus cafes to the slightly watery brew the Dalton dining hall serves, but he accepts it gracefully.

"He's at home for the weekend." Blaine hums, letting the steam waft up under his nose. "I think he misses his family more than he lets on."

"Understandably so." Wes says, reasonable as ever. "But the council has been talking, and we're a bit concerned about the stepbrother."

Blaine blinks, feels his fist clench at the implication. "Kurt wouldn't tell Finn anything important." He says with certainty. "He wants to win as much as any of us do."

"We know that you believe that, but the rest of us don't know him as well as you do. Don't forget that he did spy on us before."

"Yes, before." Blaine stresses the word. "Things have changed since then. Kurt is one of us now."

"I'm glad that you're so sure Blaine, but it doesn't change the fact that he lives with the co-captain of our biggest competitor. All of his closest friends are in the New Directions, and he's known them for much longer than he's known you. He could easily let something slip."

Looba hisses softly. Blaine looks down at his dæmon to see the black fur along her slim spin standing straight up in clear indignation. He leans and scoops her off his feet, settling her in his lap and smoothing a palm over her ruffled coat. "I can talk to him if it would make the council feel better." He says evenly.

Wes nods slowly and stands. "Yes, please do that Blaine." He says. "And try to convince him to stay on campus for the weekends. It would be easier for us all if the temptation were removed altogether." He nods once more and walks back out, Idris padding along at his heels. At the click of the door shutting behind them, Blaine suddenly has a lapful of lanky German Shepherd.

"Prick." Looba grows, burying her tapered muzzle into the crease of Blaine's armpit.

"Don't be rude." Blaine reprimands lightly, scratching behind one triangular ear. "And shove over, you're not a lapdog."

"He was rude first." She sniffs, wriggling so that her bony elbow lands dangerously close to his groin. He shoves her off and she flops over, leaping immediately up into Wes' vacated seat. "Did you hear what he said? Like what, we're going to lock Kurt up in his room, no contact with the outside world until after Nationals?"

"Get down from there Loo, you know the dean doesn't like you on the furniture."

"He doesn't like _you_ on the furniture either, but that never stops you." She grumps, but complies, returning to her spot draped across his ankles. "I miss Phe."

"You saw him this morning." Blaine laughs, wiggling his toes against her stomach. "And he'll be back tomorrow."

"I know. That doesn't stop me from missing him." She rolls onto her back, shamelessly inviting a belly rub. "Maybe we _should_ lock them up."

"Phe would claw your eyes out if you tried." Blaine chuckles, scrubbing the tan fur of her tummy with one socked foot.

"But at least he'd be here." She whispers.

Orpheus darts off of Kurt's shoulder as soon as they're through the door of the Lima Bean. Delighted chatter fills the shop as Harlem and Feivel rise to greet him, the beating of their wings disrupting the coffee scented air.

Looba presses against Blaine's knees, vibrating with anxiety like she does whenever she's faced with a group of different dæmons. "Hey no Loo." Blaine reaches out to steady her, "hold on, you're fine."

But she's already changed. She flutters up to perch on his shoulder, a pretty grey and black Mockingbird. "Sorry Blaine." She murmurs sadly. "I couldn't."

Blaine sighs. It's been such a good stretch. Looba has been holding her form so much better over the past few days, even spending a whole warblers practice in her favourite shape. "Don't worry about it." He says, stroking one finger over her soft little head. "Go have fun with Phe."

They join the others at the counter, where a frazzled looking woman with a 'supervisor' badge is asking Rachel to please keep Feivel from flying inside the store. "Rach." Kurt is saying, tone patient, "I'm sure Fei can still reflect the passion in his heart without flying for half an hour."

"I don't know Kurt." The brunette replies, chin jutting out stubbornly, "We're very passionate beings. It wouldn't be healthy."

"It wouldn't be...!" The expression that crosses Kurt's face is priceless. But he seems to rein back his ire with a well practiced shake and smiles apologetically at the woman behind the counter. "We'll just take our order to go then shall we?"

Ten minutes later they're outside and over a block at a little grassed area between a recruitment office and a used bookstore. They've commandeered a picnic table and even though Blaine is the one sitting beside Kurt, the boy is deeply engrossed in a conversation with the two girls. Gossip from McKinley from the sounds of it, stories about people who Blaine doesn't know.

Harlem had tucked Orpheus up under one red and blue wing the moment they all sat down, the little nightingale immediately treated to the most vigorous grooming Blaine's ever seen. Looba has been watching them silently the whole time, little talons sharp at Blaine's wrist.

"Look at the state of these feathers!" Harlem trills hotly, working at a patch between Orpheus' shoulders. "Disgraceful! That's it, you have to come back if there's nobody there to take care of you."

Orpheus squirms out of the larger bird's grasp and hops across the table out of the reach of his grasping claws. "You're delusional!" He tweets, settling down right beside Looba, so close that he misses brushing Blaine's arm by a hair. Blaine shivers and nudges his dæmon off, drawing his hands down into his lap. "I am more than capable of grooming myself, thank you very much."

Blaine looks at the way the two dæmons' feathers mesh where their wings touch - black and white against mousy brown. Tentatively, Looba leans over and runs her beak alone the patch that Harlem had ruffled. Orpheus turns his head to grant her easier access.

Blaine tears his eyes away, trying to pay attention to the conversation. He sees Kurt twitch in the corner of his eye. The other boy's ears are faintly pink.

Jeremiah's dæmon is an adorable, ash grey rodent, roughly the size of a loafer. Looba spends three days straight in a smaller version of the animal before Blaine even figures out what species it is.

"I'm a _Pika_." She explains loftily, little circular ears twitching to noises only she can hear. They're in Blaine's dorm room, the original intent having been to work on homework, the current reality having a lot more surfing YouTube on Kurt's laptop than European History.

"Never heard of it." Orpheus snipes back, hopping from foot to foot around the scarf that Looba is currently using as a nest. He darts in close to peer sideways at her squat little legs before dancing away again. "It sounds like a Pokemon or something. Are you sure it's a real thing?"

"What kind of question is that?" Looba squeals, trying to swat him but not able to reach. "It's a great animal. I _like_ it. Maybe I'll stay like this."

"Like _that?_" Orpheus skids to a stop, hooking his talons over the edge of Blaine's end table. "_Why?_ I mean, you look like giant a blob of lint! And you look ridiculous when you run!"

"Phe!" Kurt snaps from the bed, shooting a glare over Blaine's head. "That's so rude!"

"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. She can't settle like this it would be...well it would be settling!"

"Orpheus! Lay off!" Kurt hisses with finality. He's never used his dæmon's full name in front of Blaine before, and it seems to do the trick. The bird drifts over to the window sill and huddles there.

Kurt turns his head back to the computer screen where another show choir is bopping around to a rock rendition of 'The Hills are Alive.' Blaine's been staring determinedly ahead throughout the exchange, but his body is tense where their shoulders touch. "I don't think this is working." He mutters, and Kurt blinks at his illuminated profile, stomach clenching until he realizes that he's talking about the song.

"Y-yeah." He agrees, gripping his forearms tightly, "I don't think so either." On opposite sides of the room, their dæmons sulk wordlessly.

Blaine knows that he's screwed up when Looba jumps off his shoulder halfway through the song, sliding smoothly from pika to dog before she hits the floor.

Well, he'd actually come to the realization just moments in, the way Jeremiah had ducked behind a display, face turned pointedly away and screwed into an expression of contained horror. His dæmon had peeped pitifully and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. But Looba shifting makes it final.

He'd just been so damned happy when Loo had taken such a shine to the form, and in hindsight he'd probably jumped a little too fast and come on a lot too strong. But it had been the longest settled period she'd had since he was fourteen, and he hadn't been about to let the chance of long awaited normalcy pass without taking a shot.

They sit together outside, just sitting. Looba's ears are back, tail tucked up against her stomach. Blaine fiddles with a loose thread at the end of his scarf to keep from fisting his hands in his hair.

"I just want to be normal." He says quietly, voice carefully void of emotion. "I just... it's so frustrating."

"I know Blaine." Kurt replies, achingly tender. "I know what you're going through."

Blaine stares. He's not angry, but...he looks at Kurt with his perfectly smooth hair, effortless style, great family and securely settled dæmon and can't help but laugh hollowly.

"No wait, let me explain." Kurt shifts sideways to face him, hands on his knees. "Phe was supposed to be a cat."

Not what Blaine had expected. He holds his tongue and waits for clarification, and Kurt rushes to oblige. "It was his favourite form." He says, "A lovely little Siamese kitten with the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. He switched around of course, but he always came back to that one. Everyone just assumed that he'd eventually settle that way. But then my mother got sick and he started to spend more time like this. Her dæmon was a nightingale too. His name was Beau." Phe makes a soft sound from where he's nesting in the hood of Kurt's jacket. It's a cross between a sob and a whistle.

"During the last few weeks he stopped shifting altogether." Kurt continues, eyes unfocused as he speaks. "And that's been it ever since." His gaze sharpens and he looks Blaine straight in the eye. "I was eight."

"_Eight?_" Blaine gapes. He's heard stories of dæmons that settle early, and some about ones who never even shifted in the first place. But they're mostly myths, urban legends.

"I wasn't the youngest ever." Kurt shrugs. He's telling the story with a rolling sense of detachment, slipping into an almost monotonous tone to state the facts, resurfacing ever few sentences to check how his story is being received. "There've been several recordings of children as young as five settling during the wartime in Germany. Some in Soviet Russia. It's hard to get a definite number since most of the developing nations have problems with parents killing infants whose dæmons show signs of irregularity. So considering historical records, I wasn't that young. But it was still another four years before the first of my classmates settled, and another year after that before another boy did. I remember going home and crying when it finally happened, I was so relieved."

Blaine nods along, heart aching in his chest for poor, preteen Kurt. "It must have been so hard." He says. At his feet, Looba has uncurled from her ball of self-pity and has her chocolate brown eyes fixed on Kurt's face, ears pricked to take in every word.

"It was." Kurt agrees, "There were some pretty dark days. I'd refuse to get out of bed because of what I knew would happen at school. And then there were the trips to the specialist where they kept running these stupid tests to try and figure out what it all meant. They wanted to try shock therapy to see if it would shake Phe out of it, but my dad put his foot down and we stopped going altogether. But there was nothing he could do to protect me from the other kids and their closed-minded malice. Or the teachers and parents with their carefully disguised disgust. All because they couldn't wrap their tiny minds around someone being different."

Looba lets out a long whine and shuffles in as close to Kurt as she could without touching him. Orpheus quietly drifts down from Kurt's nape and lights on top of her head. It's the first time he's even acknowledged the other dæmon's presence since their tiff the week before.

"So I know that our situations are different, and it's none of my business what's happened in your life that could have...delayed Loo's settling so long, but I just wanted to share that with you. I don't talk about it much because everyone in Lima already knows, and it's been overshadowed over the years by my so called flaming homosexuality but still, I know what it's like to be...irregular."

"Kurt..." Blaine murmurs, touched beyond words. "I'm so sorry they treated you that way." He reaches over and lays his hand on the other boy's arm.

"No wait, that's not the point." Kurt says, gripping Blaine's wrist and pushing his hand away. But he doesn't draw back, his fingers where they press against Blaine's pulse point. "I just...my dad would always say, if I was having a rough spell. We don't have dæmons for the sake of others. Our dæmons are for us, to help us be the people we are meant to be. Sure sometimes I wonder what life would've been like if Phe settled as a cat, but never once have I wished that he had. The person I am is the best person I can be, and people have no right to sneer at his gender or how early he settled. And you can't force Loo to settle sooner than she's ready to, not by dating a certain person or acting a certain way. She'll do it when you are both ready, not earlier, not later."

Blaine suddenly finds that he's blinking back tears. He thinks of all the years of endless striving. Of standing in his mother's searching eyes, Looba a delicate spotted fawn in Mal's shadow, of Cooper's rare visits in which he was endlessly praised on how much Alfonsina's golden eyes and sleek tan fur so resembled their father's cougar dæmon while Looba slunk along the sidelines in the body of a tiny sand cat kit, of only ever really feeling comfortable around his nanny and her cocker-spaniel. Of the horror of waking up in that hospital bed to find the dæmon he'd been so sure had settled shifting again.

"How is it that you always know the right thing to say?" He asks hoarsely, turning his hand so that their palms slot into alignment.

Kurt coughs awkwardly but doesn't pull away. "Two years of being Rachel Berry's go-to comfort blanket will do that to a person." He shrugs and squeezes their interlaced fingers.

Kurt resurfaces from a mind-numbing hour of advanced algebra to find the door to Pavarotti's cage open and the canary utterly absent.

"Wha- Orpheus!" Kurt leaps to his feet and dashes across the room, leaning out the window to scan the area desperately. "What have you done?"

It's no use, the little yellow bird has fled the scene, undoubtedly never to be seen again. Kurt collapses onto the sill. "Just...what the hell Phe?" He groans against his forearm.

"Please don't be mad Kurt." The little bird whistles miserably from the shingles just outside the window. "But he looked so sad in there, and he hasn't been singing much lately and I just couldn't stand it anymore. I'm so sorry, please don't hate me."

Kurt stares out bleakly at the rows of suburban yards stretching out before him and sighs deeply. Holding up a crooked finger for his dæmon to fly to, he closes his eyes against the setting sun. "Hating you would be irrational."

"But you are mad." The bird kneads his claws anxiously, "I knew you'd be mad."

"I can't exactly say that I'm happy you've lost the Warblers' beloved mascot." Kurt mutters, "I mean, you heard what David said, Lord Dalton's own dæmon was a canary, and there's been one at the school ever since he died to commemorate him. Pavoratti was supposedly a direct descendent of the first one. They'll probably expel me or something."

"That can't!" Phe cries, fluttering his wings in distress, "Oh Kurt, they wouldn't do that, would they?"

"I don't know, they do love their traditions." Kurt cups his free hand over his dæmon's back to stop his flapping. "And I can't even feel properly sorry about it. I hated seeing the little guy caged up as much as you did."

"But they can't expel us Kurt!" Phe whimpers, pressing his little face against the pad of Kurt's thumb, trembling. "Where will we go? We can't, we'd have to go back to...go back to McKinley with _him_. Kurt we can't go back!"

"Hey, hey. Phe. Don't be scared, I won't let that happen." He steps away from the window and cradles the terrified bird to his chest. "We'll sort something out. I'll tell them that he died or something, but whatever happens," he strokes the tips of his fingers over Orpheus' back, feeling the erratic beat of his heart beneath soft feathers. "I promise you'll be safe. I'm never letting him lay a hand on you ever again."

Alcohol has, in the past, helped Looba stay fixed in one form. It's incredibly useful at parties like this one, when he's surrounded by people he only sort of knows, each with a different dæmon, and each with a different reason to be judging him.

So he goes overboard. Puck has commandeered the position of bartender, and is mixing dangerously delicious cocktails from the contents of Rachel's dads' large liquor cabinet. Each drink makes it easier to forget that these people are basically Kurt's very protective extended family, and by his third he finds himself playfully dirty dancing between Tina and Quinn. Loo is a mockingbird again, fluttering about in the rafters with Quinn's magnificent golden eagle dæmon.

The Berry's basement is pretty big, but with a dozen people and their dæmons crammed inside, it feels cramped. Everyone is trying to avoid Puck's dæmon's quills, and Blaine nearly trips over Brittany's when he's making his way across the room.

"S-sorry!" He hiccups at them once the room rights itself.

"Never apologize for overcoming obstacles." The jackrabbit says solemnly, blinking up at him with bulging, watery eyes. "There will be far worse sins committed tonight, save your contrition for then."

Blaine shivers. This is only the second time he's encountered the girl's dæmon, but just like last time he walk away feeling eerily scrutinized and vaguely violated. He shakes the chills off by the time he extracts himself from the dance floor and stumbles into the less crowded corner where Kurt and Finn are standing.

Blaine hasn't had a chance to talk to Finn yet today. Blaine suddenly feels like its _vital_ that he talk to Finn. Finn is Kurt's brother. Like, Kurt is quickly becoming important to Blaine, and Finn is important to Kurt so he has to talk to him immediately. He lurches over and throws an arm over Finn's shoulders. It's quite a stretch, and he displaces poor little Clytie, who'd been perched at Finn's collar, but it successfully gets both guys' attention.

It's so awesome how far Kurt and Finn have come. Blaine doesn't know everything, but he's managed to piece together a fairly cohesive idea of the history between the two guys from a mixture of what Kurt has told him directly and what he's gathered from observation. It's obviously been a rocky road to where they are now, and everything is clearly still not perfect, but they both try so hard. It's beautiful and so cool and is kind of making Blaine tear up, so he tries to tell them all of his thoughts.

He's only moderately almost successful. He can tell by Kurt's exasperated and yet still fond face that he's failing to get his full meaning across. He'll have to try again when he's soberer.

Eventually they all wind up in a circle, someone's empty beer can in the middle, playing spin the bottle. Blaine's only ever played the game once, attending an all-boys school would tend to make it awkward for most of his friends. But once last year Nick Duvel had hosted a weekend-long sleep over party while his parents were in Tahiti. Some girls from Crawford had dropped in and the party inevitably spiraled into thinly veiled attempts by the boys to cop a feel.

It's different with the New Directions, because he doesn't really know them. And because he's that much older, and that much drunker, it all seems more serious.

Over the course of the night, Looba has bonded quite quickly with Feivel. The swan tends to feel left out when they're indoors, his wingspan and less than graceful take-offs meaning that he has to stay on the ground while his fellow avian dæmons fly about above him. At some point, when Blaine had become tipsy enough for Looba to relax back into dog form, she'd bounded over to the miserable bird, bouncing and crouching on her elbows like she does when they're performing on stage. Now they're cuddled up on a couch together, both a little second-hand drunk from their humans.

Kurt is sitting beside him, and their knees are touching so that's nice. Everyone is laughing and having a good time which is also nice. Booze keeps appearing in Blaine's hand which is definitely nice. Bonding with Kurt's friends is nice, Looba being comfortable with another dæmon is nice, being accepted by these people is nice. Everything is so nice. Kurt's a little quiet, and Orpheus is hiding in his breast pocket for some reason, but other than that, everything is just so darn nice and Blaine doesn't want this party to end.

He wakes up the next day to somebody talking far too loudly. His head is pounding, his eyes gooed shut, his mouth is dry and tastes like that time when he was eleven and decided to "connect with his roots" and try to cook _Longganisa_ to disastrous results.

Opening his eyes feels pretty far out of reach at the moment, so he presses as close to the soft mattress he's lying on as he can, and reaches out blindly for Looba. She presses her muzzle obligingly into his hand, her nose a bit warm and dryer than is really healthy, and licks a couple times.

He's just drifting back to the blissfully unpainful land of sleep when the world shifts and Kurt's voice is in his ear. "Time to wake up you alcoholic. Trouble in paradise."

Ah. It makes sense that Kurt is here, because he's gradually recognizing that the blankets tangled around him smell like his body wash. "Hnggg." He moans into the pillow. "Sleeeeepin' noaaaaw."

"Uhm, sorry but no you aren't. Because my dad is in the doorway. And if you don't get up now I think he might actually go get his old rifle out and-"

"M'up!" Blaine jerks up and tears his eyes open, immediately assaulted by the double dose of shifting gravity and the overhead lights. "Oh god." Looba lets out a long, pitiful whine.

"Easy boy." Kurt leans in, thankfully blocking out the worst of the glare, with a glass of water and two ibuprofen in his hand. "Just...get out from under the covers at least so he can see how very _fully clothed you are_." the last words are obviously directed at Burt, who Blaine can see hovering darkly over his son's shoulder.

Probably a good idea. He swings his jean-clad legs up, taking an embarrassing minute to untangle his feet, and plops them down on top of Kurt's duvet. The task leaves him extremely lightheaded. Phe watches from Kurt's shoulder as he pops the pills into his mouth and chokes down a mouthful of water. "You smell like ass."

"Orpheus, language!" Burt and Gerda snap in perfect unison.

"Sorry." The bird tweets primly, "You smell like _bum_."

"Not really that much better kid." Gerda growls from the ground. Blaine can't see her from where he's still half sagged against the headboard, but Looba wrangles the energy to slide off the bed, tail wagging sluggishly. She idolizes the older dæmon in much the same way Blaine looks up to Burt, and Gerda usually responds to her puppyish adoration with patience and the occasional romp around the room, but this time she growls when Looba approaches.

"Okay so here's what's gonna happen." Burt says, arms crossed and voice far too rumbly for Blaine's still sore head. "I'm going downstairs to make toast; it will take no more than five minutes, in which time you boys will fully wake up, gather Blaine's things, call his parents, and brush your teeth because frankly, you're breath does smell pretty ripe. You two will be downstairs at the table, eat your breakfast, and then say your goodbyes. Blaine will then drive back to Dalton, and Kurt and I will be having a nice little chat about house rules. How does that sound?"

"But dad, Blaine is sick!"

"And if Blaine is still sick after breakfast, then he's welcome to stick around for our chat. Do you think you'll need to stay for our chat Blaine?"

The very though makes Blaine's stomach roil, and he has to take a few deep breaths before he trusts himself to open his mouth without puking. "No, no thanks Mr Hummel." He's been told multiple times to call the man 'Burt', but this feels like a 'Mr Hummel' type situation. "I think I'll be okay to drive. I just need a couple minutes..."

"See he's fine." Burt grunts. "I'll mix him up the ol' hangover cure my pop used to make for me. Snaps you back right awake." He turns and heads back out into the hall, calling "Five minutes boys!"

Blaine hurries through the least-thorough shower he's ever taken, pulls last night's clothes back on, forces a piece of plain toast into his stomach, gags on Burt's so called 'cure' (which tastes like draino and definitely does wake him up) and hurries out of the tension-filled house as fast as he can.

During the hour and forty minutes it takes him to drive back to Dalton, Blaine sorts through his memories of the party. He thinks he remembers Santana wailing in Spanish, at one point Herrick and Ramesses had gotten into a scrap on the dance floor and sent feathers and fur everywhere while Lauren and Quinn beat Puck over the head with throw pillows. Poor Ronny hadn't known what to do, and had stayed curled into a prickly ball in the corner for the rest of the party. At one point he thinks Clytie had fallen into the punch bowl.

And the whole night was bathed in a warm glow of peace and acceptance. He had been so very content in the later hours of the party that, although hazy with drink, the memories wash over him and make him feel giddy. He turns to look at Looba in the passenger seat, and she has the silliest doggy grin on her face, tongue lolling happily. He thinks he probably resembles his dæmon to an uncomfortable degree at the moment.

"I like Kurt's friends." Loo says blissfully. "They don't look at me strange when I turn. Especially Feivel. He said that he sort of wishes he could still switch because then he could play more easily with Harley and Phe. And he could keep up with Ramesses. It felt good to talk about it like its okay, not something to be ashamed of. Something almost good."

"Yeah, it did." Blaine murmurs.

The fact that the good feelings had peaked the moment Rachel's lips had touched his was beyond confusing. But he pushes the disconcertion out of his mind for now, and enjoys the good mood while it lasts.

The thing is, it's just so hard to be mad at them.

Kurt spends fifty percent of the time angry at Rachel for some thing or another, it's sort of become an aspect of life as normal as sleeping or breathing. Sure he's pissed that she'd pursue a guy that she_ knows_ Kurt is well on his way to in love with, sure he hates how everything ends up a competition between them, one that she wins almost every time.

Blaine is a tough one because he just has no idea. He has no clue what his constant swerving is doing to Kurt's esteem, to his heart. It feels like the guy is throwing himself in every direction but towards Kurt. It sucks royally.

Orpheus does his usual bit, clamming up and sticking close to Kurt. Mercedes comes over for a bit, and Harlem tries to gently temp the smaller bird out from where he's taken up residence in the layers between Kurt's shirts, but to no avail.

"So uhm...what's the deal with Blaine and Rachel?" Finn asks that night while they're doing dishes. "Are they like...a thing all of a sudden? 'Cause I'm really confused, I though you and him were like dating or whatever."

Kurt keeps his eyes on the pan he's scrubbing, using a nail to chip away at a stubborn piece of dried on curry. "No Finn, Blaine and I were never dating.

"But he's like, gay and stuff right? So why am I hearing from a bunch of people that they might be hooking up? "'Cause I mean, Rachel's totally a girl. I know, I've checked."

"Your wording leaves much to be desired Finn." Kurt sighs, passing his step-brother the pan. The taller boy fumbles with it for a second before getting a firm grip and rubbing with the towel. "Blaine is having whats known as a sexuality crisis. He's wrong of course, but he's still under the delusion that he might be attracted to Rachel."

"Oh so he isn't really?" Finn sounds far more relived than he has the right to considering he and Rachel aren't currently together. And considering that Kurt witnessed him telling her to back off just the other night.

"No he isn't." Kurt huffs, grabbing a handful of dirt cutlery to submerge, "Blaine is gay. Comfortably gay. He's just...being an obtuse dummy about things."

"Wait...obtuse is like in math right? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh my god no Finn!" Orpheus bursts from Kurt's collar. "Obtuse as in thick. Slow. Dumb. Dumb like you."

Kurt snaps the dish cloth at his dæmon. "Don't!" But the bird darts away.

"Ouch dude." Finn mutters. "Way harsh."

"Don't mind him," Kurt sighs, rising the last of the pans before pulling the plug. "He always gets bitchy when Looba makes new friends."

"Stupid Feivel!" Orpheus hisses from the light fixture above. "Stupid Looba! Stupid Blaine! Stupid Rachel! She's not good enough for him."

"H-hey!" Clytie pipes up from her nest atop Finn's head. "D-don't talk about them like that! Rachel's amazing. Blaine would be so lucky!"

"Shut up you, like you know anything." Orpheus sneers meanly. "Blaine is crazy to even consider going there."

"H-he'd be crazier not to! But Rachel will come to her senses, you just wait. He's too short."

"He's adorable! Perfect hugging size."

"He's a hobbit! That's not attractive"

"Says the mouse! Besides, if Blaine's a hobbit then Rachel's a deformed midget hobbit!"

"I'll chew up your magazines!"

"I'll poo on you if you try!"

"Jesus what's got all you so worked up?" Burt grunts, wandering through to the pantry. He roots through the shelves with a grimace, squinting at a bag of Kurt's sunflower seed bites before eventually settling on the low sodium snack-mix.

"We're just...we're tired." Kurt says dully. "School drama."

"Translates to Blaine and Rachel drama." Gerda grumbles.

"Say no more." Burt grabs a bar of dark chocolate from the fridge and motions to the den. "Carole and I are putting on a movie, you boys joining?"

"Whose night is it?" Finn asked, nose wrinkled.

"Your mother's."

"Darn it!" The boy takes off down the hall. "Please not a chick flick! Mom don't pick a chick flick!"

"He just doesn't want to cry again." Burt chuckles warmly. "That Bright Star film you picked really did a number on him."

"Ah Ben Winshaw in period costume. Enough to reduce the straightest of bros to tears. And I maintain that the true romance lay between Keats and Brown." Kurt smiles in satisfaction.

"Well I dunno about that, but it was a pretty decent watch." Burt pauses, watching Kurt stack four glasses onto a tray beside a pitcher of his home-made iced tea. "Hey, you okay bud?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Kurt recites reflexively. Gerda chuffs indignantly and turns her flat face to glare up at him. "No. But I will be." He shrugs.

"You always are."

"I always am."


End file.
